come back, you bad person
by aprettyfacelies
Summary: They're grown adults who are capable of solving situations like this. / — harry & lea.


He opens his eyes when the darkness of his eyelids seems to glow with color and he's hit by an unwelcome ray of golden sunlight casting its bright shadow upon his blanket-clad self. He groans lowly, pulling the covers that aren't even his own over his head. Her scent hits his nose, making itself known through all of his senses, and for a brief moment he wants to thank the blinding morning light for forcing him to engulf himself in the scented darkness of her blankets.

Smiling to himself as memories of the previous night take over his thoughts, he stretches his legs out in search of a body he knows is not present, but he can somehow still feel his leg brushing against it.

It's absolutely sinful how she's managed to manipulate fact and reason, tying him to her like he should have been tied to the ground by gravity. He revels in the absent yet warm embrace of her, of everything they shouldn't be doing at all, his body slowly shutting down once more.

As reality carefully drifted to the back of his mind, he took in the replayed memories and labeled them fantasy, waiting to relive them in his second wave of slumber. Dream after dream after dream, if possible.

"Harry, breakfast's ready!"

The formulating images quickly vanished, evaporating into thin air as her voice rang through his ears. It became apparent to him that there was absolutely no way he was going to carry himself downstairs.

No loud pleas or commands hit his ears as minutes passed and he held the covers closer to him, believing he had time to sink back into the dreams she had turned to smoke.

Then there's sunlight, and cold air, and her scent is somehow stronger than it was before. Another groan escapes his lips as she laughs that laugh that makes his insides churn with want and his ears ring pleasantly because it's a delightful melody he had taken quite a liking to.

"I made coffee."

Her warm breath continues to tickle his ear and he wants to know why such simple, innocent words make his spine shiver and his shoulders tense. It's then he remembers she helped create the wonderful thoughts in the first place, thus giving him a reason to mirror her smile with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, their lips meeting and his head reeling as fantasy made way for a reality that was far too good to be true.

Lea first, coffee (and breakfast) later.

He wants to laugh because his priorities are out of place and the order of them has been this way since the first morning he woke up to her at his side, idly stroking patterns down his arm. He can't even find it in himself to try and change it because his fingers trained, skilled and torturing fingers are playing her like a guitar and all she has the strength to do it moan against his lips then moment he claims them again.

* * *

She fucks him over and he thinks nothing of it because they're grown adults who are capable of solving situations like this without causing a massive scene; because they are grown adults who occasionally engage in sexual activities for the heck of it and have no place in the other's life beyond the yellow line clearly marked 'friends'.

So when he walks into her trailer and casually asks if any of the rumors involving her and their taller-than-average co-star are true, she offers him a bottled water before answering the question with an equally casual yes.

His fists do not clench, he doesn't grit his teeth, and he doesn't glare at her with a feeling of betrayal burning in his gut. He simply accepts the water he's given, taking a small sip of it before bidding her farewell because he has a scene to do and he can see mister taller-than-average co-star approaching her trailer through the window behind her couch and he doesn't want to be a bother.

Before his feet are out the door, she pulls him back in by his wrist and asks if he can help keep it all a secret.

He takes a glance around her trailer, flashes of her withering helplessly beneath him on the caramel colored couch and snippets of their frequent make-out sessions against the marble counter flowing through his brain.

There are questions that cross his mind as well, questions that he feels obligated to ask, as a friend, but he can see the slight worry and panic hidden in the depths of her chocolate eyes when his eyes eventually land on her again and he can't bring himself to ask, or say anything at all.

Instead, he gives her a small smile and a nod of his head before pulling his wrist out of her grasp and heading off.

The friendly slap on the shoulder he gives Cory as the two of them cross paths is a little harder than usual, but his pal pays no mind to it and he doesn't even realize his blood has started boiling until he hears a faint squeal coming from the trailer he had left behind.

* * *

"Morning sleepy head."

He wants to know how he ended up in her bed again, but he thinks the excessive pounding above his right eye is a more pressing matter, so he pushes back his questions and grumbles out a greeting before trying to get out of bed, her bed.

Her hands are quick to trap him just before he can straighten up into a seated position, and she places a gentle kiss to the end of his nose before nodding towards the aspirin and glass of water on his bedside table.

It's an elaborate trap.

For a moment, he thinks he might have fallen for it hook, line, and sinker, but then her phone goes off and it seems she's given Cory a personalized ringtone because for as long as he's known her, he never once heard Don't Go Breaking My Heart blare from her purse when she'd receive a call.

She scrambles off of him and hops around the room as she tries to get her pants back on, picking up all of her articles of clothing as she hums in acknowledgement and mumbles out sentences he can't really make out but he catches "I'll be right there" and "I love you too" before she ends the call.

It dawns on him that taller-than-average co-star is not an addition to them, but rather, he is the addition to short and bubbly meets tall and funny.

And so maybe after she's left, he quotes her character's fathers on Facebook. And maybe he feels guilty for secretly and unknowingly slashing apart his honor with his unintended dishonesty, and maybe he can't find it in himself to dance about it because he'd probably end up breaking mirrors and kicking furniture.

He tries not to let it affect him too much, because he realizes it isn't his fault he's sudden feels so wounded.

Not entirely.

* * *

His admittance is as casual as she thinks their meetings behind closed doors are, because the two of them have never been anything but slow yet heated, dangling at the end of a line because they were meaningless enough to take a chance at throwing away if the need or desire ever showed its face.

"I love you, you know."

"I know," she laughs. "I've been told I'm incredibly lovable."

He laughs with her because he has no other choice, even though his lungs are sucking up all the air he needs to breath and his throat is threatening to clog up. Her fingers dance along his neck, a soft giggle leaving her lips when he squeaks after her finger hits against a particularly sensitive area he clearly remembers her nipping at and kissing far too many times for him to count.

"You are."

Even as she kisses his lips, the daze and buzz it used to create in his head is faint, and yet he doesn't pull away. He enjoys it as much as he did the first time, if not more, only because it feeds his desperate need for her, any part of her at all. He'll never have her all, and he's accepted that fate, because _something's_ always better than _nothing_.

He's never been the selfish type, why start now?


End file.
